Wilson was starting to get annoyed. He did not mind being at Houses beck and call, but this has got to be pushing it.
As he saw it, House was not in any trouble, as he first assumed when he got the phone call.
Indeed, House seemed to be doing very well. He was sprawled in his huge bathtub, smoking a joint...
"Where did you get this?" Wilson asked and pointed to the little cigarette in House's hand.
"Raiding your stash, my dear boy", House replied.
"God, House! This is for my patients, they are the onces who really need it... Never mind, pass it over to me"
"You are just going to waste it", said House. "Me, on the other hand, can really appreciate a good Chronic when I taste one".
Wilson have had enough. He was either going to get stoned and go along with whatever House wanted, or he was getting out of here.
"Give me the joint or I am out here"
He did not really have any place to go or anyone to see, but House did not need to know that.
Wilson was happy to be here, it was a welcome change from the Hotel. There were less rude people back "home", but none of them could offer what House could -- an escape from reality and, maybe, a relaxing evening on the leather sofa. At the moment, getting high with House actually looked like a good idea.
"Dude, you are so ruining my high ", came somewhere from the bathtub. The only thing Wilson could see now was House's head going down under the water, his hand, the one with the joint, up in the air, waving at Wilson.
"I am sure you will find a way for me to make this up to you", said Wilson, as he reached for the pot.
It has been a while since he let himself go and get high. It tasted aweful and the smoke was burning his throat.
"Hold it in, Buddy!", "that is the only way to Nirvana" was the last thing Wilson heard before tremendous coughing fit overcame him.
As the smoke cleared, House saw Wilson smile like.. well, like a village idiot. But Wilson knew that House was watching, he won't let House ruin this wonderful feeling building up in his chest. So James turned around and headed for the living room.
It has been a while since Wilson had a joint. He liked rolling them for his patients, the feel of little weeds poking at his fingertips as he was rolling them up always amused him. He felt a need to crush them, make the cigarette smooth, uniform. When all the kinks were taken care of, he almost felt satisfied.
Smoking it, on the other hand, has always been unpredictable. Sometimes, the high would make him feel good and he could loose himself in semi-conscious haze. Other times, it just made him nervous. Today, Lucky Him, he was feeling good all over and he did not want House to spoil it. He thought about hiding in the closet for a second, but then laughed to himself and went straight for the couch. He was going to have to wait for House to come out to the living room and explain why he, House, in the middle of the good Saturday Afternoon, felt the need to leave 911 message on Wilson's beeper.